


Wishing Well

by myhomeistheshire



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhomeistheshire/pseuds/myhomeistheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra is the new girl in the little town of Anicks, Oklahoma. Jake's lived there all his life. They're both meant for better things - they're both stuck here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Like a speeding train

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song of the same name by The Oh Hellos.

When Jake wakes up, it’s to a blast of noise that nearly pops his eardrums. He rolls over blearily, slamming the snooze button, before realizing that the sound isn’t coming from his alarm. Great. He lies there for a few seconds, before dragging himself out of bed. The noise is coming from downstairs, and now that he listens to it closely it sounds like a saw, or a _really_ loud vacuum.

 

He throws on a shirt and jumps down the stairs, only to be greeted by his mother’s cry of “Jake! I _told_ you not to do that - you’re going to get yourself killed!”

He obligingly trots down the last few steps and leans over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Yeah, yeah. Dad tryin’ to burn the house down again?”

His mother sighs. “He got one of those buzz saws. He’s got in into his head that if he can _build_ the porch, he won’t have to pay for one. Go try and get it out of his head, will you?”

“Love to,” Jake says through a mouthful of a sandwich (it wasn’t his, but hey, in this family if you leave it out it’s public domain), “but I have to get to school early.”

“Oh, yes. You have that track thing.” His mother says absentmindedly, glancing back out the window. “Good luck, honey.”

“Thanks, ma.”

 

He takes the rusty old pickup that he’d gotten as a sixteenth birthday present. It had been in terrible shape when he’d got it, and a year later it looks like it’ll barely make it to the school. He doesn’t mind - it’s not like they have a lot of money for vehicles, so it’s a big deal that he even got this one. And he knows just enough about cars to fix it up whenever it breaks down - for now, at least.

 

When he shows up at school, he parks around the block and looks around as subtly as he can. The school’s open - but at this hour, no one is here. He slips into the library doors and hurries to the back, where the history section is, and pulls out a copy of Berger’s _Ways of Seeing._

So, fine, he told a little white lie about the track mix. And another one before that, about going over to Brian’s. And about having to stay late for tutoring. He’s figured out that if you tell a bunch of lies, they start to blur together. They start to come out automatically. He doesn’t _want_ to - but he has to.

He ignores his conscience and buries himself in the book.

  


...

  


“Okay.” Cassandra tells herself firmly after she locks the door behind her. “You can do this. It’s not like you’ve never been the new girl before, right?” _But not in a place that barely qualifies as a town,_ another part of her brain says. _Shut up,_ she tells that part of her brain. She straightens her skirt and starts walking.

It’s nice out, even if it’s crazy hot, and she’s glad she decided to walk. The school is barely five minutes away from her house, anyway, and it would be an absolute crime to waste a morning like this. Plus, she might just be a _little_ nervous about starting a new school that’s already been going for nearly a month, where everyone knows everyone, and they’ve already probably started assignments and midterm prep and -

 _Breathe,_ she tells herself, as she sees a flash of bright orange. Orange is never a good sign. She walks a little faster. Maybe she should have seen if they have a swimming pool anywhere - burning some energy this morning by doing laps wouldn’t have been a bad idea. Oh, well. Maybe tomorrow.

 

The school looks abandoned when she gets there - and when she checks her watch, she sees that it’s because she’s forty-five minutes early. She probably could’ve planned this out better, but hey, at least she has time to get to know the school before people start showing up.

 

You’d think the office would be at the front of the school - but no, apparently it’s hidden in some back corner or something. And this school is so tiny, she’s surprised it _has_ any back corners. She would keep looking for it - but then she finds the library, and come on, it’s a _library,_ so she steps inside to take a quick peek around. There’s no one at the desk but the lights are on, so she figures it’s okay for her to look around a bit.

It’s tragically undersupplied, but when Cassandra finally stumbles on the Mathematics section she’s delighted to find a copy of _Euclid’s Elements._ She flips through it, just to calm herself down. She’s almost succeeded, when she hears the soft _thump_ of a book closing a few aisles over.

She’s so startled, she lets out a little squeak. A second later, a head of mussed-up brown hair peers out from behind a bookshelf.

“Who the hell are you?” The guys asks, and for a moment Cassandra’s too surprised to be offended. And then that moment passes.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She says. “I was just trying to read - I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.”

“Okay.” He seems a little less perturbed than a moment before, but he’s still staring at her like she’s an apparition. “But that doesn’t tell me _who_ you are.”

“Oh. Right.” She flushes. She _really_ needs to work on that whole good-first-impression thing. She sticks out a hand, awkwardly. “Cassandra Cillian.”

He shakes her hand, which is good because otherwise it would’ve been even more awkward. “Jake Stone.” He replies, this time with a smile that makes her heart flip a little. _Keep it together,_ she tells herself. _You don’t need to be so nervous you throw up. You really, really don’t._

“So is this your -”

“I just moved here, and -” She says at the same time. They both stop. At this point, her face is probably on par with the beets that their neighbors had brought over the other night. He gestures for her to keep going, so she clears her throat and starts again. “My parents and I just moved here, last minute. So this is my first day. In case you hadn’t noticed. This place is, um, kinda small. So you probably have.”

“It’s tiny.” Jake agrees, and luckily he doesn’t give her a weird look. She knows she needs to stop rambling, she _knows_ it. She’ll work on that soon - sometime when her heart rate is back in the 61-65 bpm range. “You’ll get used to it after a while.”

“I hope so.” Cassandra mutters, before the loud _clang_ of the bell reverberates through the room. Her eyes widen. “Oh, shit. Shit, shit shit.” She was supposed to be at the office at _least_ ten minutes ago, and if it weren’t for that stupid book -

She darts off without saying goodbye.

  


...

  


Jake blinks twice, before double-checking that the book looks untouched on the shelf and heading out to the hallway. It’s busy, so no one notices him slipping out of the library door. If they did, he could just say he came in those doors, anyway. Except that the new girl - Cassandra - had seen him in there. Well, she probably wouldn’t mention it to anyone. It’s not like it was _weird,_ finding a student in the library. For all she knew, he was in there doing homework like any normal person.

He shakes off his worries and heads over to his first class - Pre-Calc. Wonderful.

 

He takes one of the spots at the back, saying a quick “hey” to Brian and Jimmy before getting settled in his seat.

“Hey, man, did you hear?” Jimmy leans over to whisper to him. Jake swats him away good-naturedly. “There’s a new chick in town. Brian says she’s smokin’.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jake asks nonchalantly. “This chick have a name?”

Jimmy shoots an expectant look over at Brian, who shrugs. “I dunno. Just saw her standin’ in the office talking to Principal Baird. Looked like they were goin’ over paperwork.”

Jake is spared the trouble of responding because just at that moment Cassandra busts into the door full-speed. She stumbles a little and manages to catch herself on the desk, gasping, before looking up at the sea of interested eyes. She takes a rattling breath, and Jake can _feel_ the panic emanating off her.

“Move over a spot.” He nudges Jimmy.

“What?”

“Just do it.” He says, and Jimmy does with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. He gives a little wave to Cassandra, whose eyes light up with relief as she all but runs over to the empty seat.

“Thanks.” She whispers, grabbing her books. “That was - a little nerve-wracking.”

“You looked like a deer in headlights.” Jake says, and maybe it was a little meaner than he’d intended, because her smile falls a little and she focuses on opening her textbooks. “Listen,” he starts, “I didn’t mean -”

But then Mr. Franklin is clearing his throat to bring the class to attention, and Cassandra is staring adamantly at the front of the classroom.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Brian leans over and whispers. “She’s so hot, it’s like -”

“Shut up, man.” Jake whispers back. “Give her a few days before you start in with the moves, alright?”

“You’re just jealous.” Brian sighs, settling back into his seat. Jake snorts.

“Of what - your lump of a face, or your stunning intellect?”

“Just wait.” Brian replies with a smirk. “I give her until the end of the week before she falls in love with me.” Jake opens his mouth for a sarcastic retort, but then Mr. Franklin turns his cutting gaze on them and he clams up.

  


...

  


Cassandra is trying really, _really_ hard not to concentrate on the whispers going around the room. It isn’t working, until the teacher says something about prime numbers and the bounded gaps conjecture being ‘unproven surmising’. She clenches her fingers around her pencil. _Don’t do it,_ she tells herself firmly. _Don’t do it, don’t_ \- “Mr., um, Franklin?”

“Yes?” He looks more startled than disapproving, which she takes as a good sign.

“That’s, well, it’s a little outdated - actually it’s a lot outdated, since Yitang Zhang proved the bounded gaps conjecture nearly two years ago.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Cassandra focuses on the smell of peaches.

“Ms. -”

“Cillian. Cassandra Cillian.”

“Well, Ms. Cillian.” Oh, _drat_ \- the teacher has a very strict tone in his voice, and the underlying glare tells her she’s _already_ stepped out of line. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let _me_ teach _my_ lessons. Any questions about the validity of my teaching -”

“It’s not a _question.”_ _Shut up, Cassandra_ , shut up. “It’s a correction. If you’d just look it up -”

 _“Enough.”_ His voice is thunderous, and Cassandra shrinks back a little. “I’ll see you after class, Ms. Cillian, but in the meantime I will continue to teach, if that’s not too much to ask.”

“Yes, sir.” She mumbles, sinking back into her seat. She’s screwing this up so badly and she’s less than five minutes into her first class. _It’ll be fine_ , she tells herself with a kind of forced optimism. _This was just a blip. Now you know not to correct the teachers - even_ , she adds a little petulantly, _if they are_ blatantly _screwing up the lesson._

 

She’d been excited for this class, but as it turns out, small-town grade 12 math doesn’t compare to her Manhattan AP class. At least the rest of the lesson is correct, she thinks as she fiddles with her bracelets. She takes out her notebook and starts doodling math theorems, before thinking better of it - she’s in the very back row, but still. Someone could see, and she really doesn’t need to be any more of an outsider than she is already.

 

She’s still fiddling when a small bunched-up piece of paper lands on her desk. She glances over and sees the guy from this morning - Jake, right? - shooting a quick glance over at her. She opens it, after checking to make sure Mr. Franklin isn’t watching. _Don’t worry about Mr. F,_ it reads. _He’s always a jerk._ She glances over at Jake with a smile that’s half _thanks_ and half _passing notes? Really?_

He grins in response.

 

Cassandra can’t keep the smile off her face for the rest of the lesson.

  


...

  


He spends the rest of the lesson trying to follow whatever the hell Mr. Franklin is talking about now - sinusoidal functions? Really? - and watching Cassandra out of the corner of his eye. She doesn’t seem to be paying attention at all, just alternates fiddling with the frankly ridiculous amount of bracelets on her wrists and doodling in a notebook. It doesn’t look like actual doodles, though, when he catches a look at the page - just a bunch of letters and numbers and oh _hell,_ she’s some kind of math genius, isn’t she?

 

When the lesson finishes he grabs his books and shoots Cassandra a quick look of sympathy before he heads out. She’s still focused on her notebook, though, so he isn’t sure she notices.

“Dude,” Jimmy hisses at him once they’re out of earshot. “What was that about? You got a thing for new girl?”

“Nah, man.” He says with a conspiratorial grin. “But I can’t help it if they all love me.”

Jimmy laughs along with him, and he ignores the urge to glance back at the classroom doors. It’s just a talking-to, anyways. She’ll be fine.

“So, listen,” Jimmy is saying when Jake tunes back in to the conversation. Brian’s caught up with them and is listening as intently as he can without ruining his “coolly disinterested” vibe. Sometimes Jake wonders why he’s friends with these people. “We’ve got the town barbecue this Saturday, right? So, we invite the new girl -”

“Cassandra.” Jake interjects.

“Yeah, her - anyway, we invite her, we get the gang together, and we pull an Initiation.”

“But what?” Brian adds in, looking a little more interested than a moment before. They haven’t had a kid to put through the hell of an Initiation in years. “Saturday’s less than a week away. We need time to _plan,_  dude. You can’t just throw together an Initiation.”

“We can get together after school today, at the old treehouse.” Jimmy says, even _skipping_ a little bit. “And the rest of this week - there isn’t much going on.”

“Except those of us who have to work,” Jake interjects. Jimmy rolls his eyes.

“You don’t _really_ have to work out on the rig until you’re 18, everyone knows that. Right now it’s like, a trial thing. Just tell your dad you have school shit.”

Jake weighs his options. On one hand, the last Initiation...didn’t go well. On the other, this way he’ll be able to stop them from going too far. He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there.”

“That’s the spirit!” Jimmy crows, clapping him on the back. “Okay, so right after school - let the gang know.”

 

Jake ignores the twisting in his stomach. It’ll be fine this time. Last time they just got carried away. It’ll be fine.

  


...

  


When the door closes behind the other students, Cassandra finally looks up from her notebook. Mr. Franklin is eyeing her like something distasteful and possibly dangerous - a really ugly crocodile, maybe. Or a hippo.

“So, Ms. Cillian.” He says, and his voice is so nasally Cassandra can hardly stop herself from laughing. She swallows to keep it down. This is serious, really. She’s never been in trouble with a teacher before - but then again, she’s never had a teacher this ignorant before, either. “I understand that it can be difficult, transferring to a new school -”

“That _isn’t_ what this is about.” Cassandra bursts out before she can stop herself. “I’m not some sort of a - a problem child. I was just trying to point out that you were teaching an outdated and incorrect view on a point that I happen to know a lot about.” He’s growing red in the face, so she adds quickly, “I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, sir.”

He stops, clears his throat. He looks like he wants to throw her straight in detention for the next month - but she hasn’t done anything wrong, she knows she hasn’t, and he knows it too, so all he does is say crisply, “Apology accepted. Don’t let it happen again.”

“No, sir.” She replies, snatching her books off the desk as fast as she can manage before darting out the door.

She’s in such a rush she doesn’t notice the post in front of her until it’s too late. She smacks into it full-on, a flashing pain stabbing through her head. She stumbles back, clutching her forehead. Ow, ow, _ow._ She reaches a hand out to rest on the wall and recites the periodic table until the pain fades away. _Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron, Carbon, Nitrogen, Oxygen -_

“Are you okay?” A voice breaks through the haze, and Cassandra forces her eyes open. It’s a bit blurry at first, but she makes out a girl standing in front of her - a _really pretty_ girl, nonetheless. She has smooth brown skin and curly almost-black hair, and she’s looking at her with an expression of concern and a little amusement. Cassandra squeezes her eyes shut again to focus.

“Oh. Oh, yeah. I’m fine - or at least I will be, once I can see again. Which, really, should be any time now. Probably.”

The girl laughs, and then Cassandra feels a hand grabbing onto her arm, guiding her. “C’mon. Let me help.”

“Thanks.” Cassandra says gratefully, trying to force the heat from her cheeks. She needs to stop this trend of getting into embarrassing situations in front of attractive people, STAT. “I’m Cassandra, by the way. Designated new girl.”

“Lamia.” The girl replies. “And really, you can stop introducing yourself. Everyone knows who you are after that face-off with Mr. Franklin.”

Cassandra groans. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yeah.” Lamia laughs. “But don’t worry about it. The gossip’ll die down in oh, probably a month or so.”

“That’s really - reassuring.” Cassandra replies with a wince. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Lamia replies, letting go of her arm when she starts walking in a semi-straight line. Hopefully there aren’t any more posts in her general vicinity.

  


The rest of the day is a little less eventful. She meets a few new people who she’s never going to remember the names of, and she settles into her classes fairly easily. And she doesn’t piss off any more teachers, so that’s a good thing, right?

At lunch, she grabs the lunch she’d packed and heads to the library. She’s not going to avoid the cafeteria _forever,_ but right now it’s one more intimidating thing that she doesn’t need to add to her list of worries.

She’s knee-deep in _Euclid’s Elements_ when she sees Jake slip in, glancing around like he’s expecting to be followed. Small town people, _seriously._

“Is there some sort of rule I don’t know about that makes the library off-limits?” She asks, and he jumps, head whipping around.

“Hey.” He says sheepishly once he realizes that yes, it’s just her. “I just -”

“I’m just here to read,” She interjects softly, before he can make up some excuse. “Which is what I assume you’re here to do as well, considering it’s the library, so do whatever you want. I’m not nosy, I promise.”

He looks at her for a few seconds, appraising her. “Okay.” He says, finally, and settles back in the corner where he’d been that morning.

 

 

...

  


It’s hard to concentrate when someone else is in the room, so Jake takes turns reading and studying the girl in the corner with her head buried in some math book. She has a black eye, although how she got one in the _hour_ since he’s seen her is a mystery, especially since she doesn’t seem like the type of person to get into fights - verbal ones aside, as this morning’s Pre-Calc proved. Finally, he gives up on _Ways of Seeing_ and just asks, “So, did ya beat someone up already?”

Her head jerks up, and he can see the confusion flash across your face.

“Oh.” She says, finally, when she realizes what he’s talking about. “No, I, um - walked into a post.”

He looks at her for a second, and her face is so _absolutely serious_ that he can’t help it - he cracks up.

“What?” She sounds mildly offended, and a little confused.

“Noth - nothing.” Jake gets the laughter mostly under control. “Just - never mind.”

She looks at him for another minute, before shaking her head and going back to her book.

 

“So what do people do in a town this small all the time?” Cassandra pipes up after a few minutes of silence.

Jake shrugs. “Drink. Bowl. Dirtbike.”

Cassandra’s face scrunches up. “Oh.”

“It’s not that bad,” he says with a little sympathy. “You’ll meet lots of people this way.”

“Sure.” She says, but she doesn’t look convinced. “Is there at least any sort of clubs at the school? Like, math/science clubs? Or anything academic, really, I just - need something to do.”

“Not school stuff.” Jake says, and her face falls. “We have some sports - football, soccer -”

“Swimming?” She asks eagerly, and he laughs.

“Not a club. But we do have a swimming pool just a block away.”

“Oh, good.” She looks relieved. She bites her lip, but doesn’t look like she’s going to say anything else, so Jake goes back to reading.

  


“Listen,” he tells her a good ten minutes later. “I don’t usually do this.”

“Do what?” She asks, without looking up from her book. “Talk to people? Read?”

“Just, the library thing. I’m catching up on some homework, is all.” He sees a flash of irritation flicker across her face.

“So you’re just letting me know that you’re not a nerd? Or, what, that I shouldn’t assume this makes us friends? Fine. I won’t talk to you in public and risk embarrassing you.”

“Cassandra, that’s not what I -”

But she’s already storming out.

 

He runs a hand through his hair. It’s probably better this way - the last thing he needs in his life is another complication. Even if this one can occasionally make him smile when he least expects it.

 

He goes back to his book.

 


	2. Only had myself to blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra goes swimming, and the Initiation plan is set.

“Okay,” Jimmy says excitedly. The five of them - Brian, Jimmy, Lamia, Zeke, and himself - are all at the old treehouse just outside town. The treehouse has been falling down for years, but they still gather around the base as a meeting place. “So, we’re doing this on Saturday.”

“What is _this,_ exactly?” Zeke asks questioningly. He’s lived in Oklahoma since he was eight, but he still carries the faintest hint of an Australian accent. “All I was told was that there was a gang meeting after school.”

“Same.” Lamia looks over to Brian, who, despite his new ‘ _I’m cool because I’m damaged_ ’ act, is still regarded as the ringleader.

“Fine.” He sighs, but the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth gives away his excitement. “We’re going to do an Initiation.”

There’s a collective - not gasp, exactly, just a sort of stunned silence.

“I’m out.” Lamia is the first one to speak. “Cassandra’s sweet, okay? She’s fragile. And I don’t know how the _hell_ you can even imagine doing another one after Eddie -”

“Eddie was a mistake.” Brian says coolly. “That wasn’t our fault.”

“What happened to Eddie is abso _lutely_ our fault.” Lamia steps up closer to him. “And if you think for one _second_ that I’m going to let you try something like that again -”

“What do you think your parents would think,” Brian utters slowly, in a voice that’s completely cool and collected, “about your girlfriend?”

Lamia goes white. “You wouldn’t.” She says in a low voice, and when Brian doesn’t respond, her expression is one of utter betrayal. “They would _kick me out_ , Brian - and that’s a best case scenario. Everyone in the town would _hate_ me -”

“Then maybe you should keep your mouth shut.” Is the icy response. “We won’t make the same mistake twice - she’ll be fine. It’s a harmless prank.”

 _“Fuck_ you.” Lamia hisses with pure venom, before turning her back and stalking away.

“I dunno, man.” Zeke says. “I mean, I’m all up for fucking with the new girl, but if we get in any more trouble -”

“Ezekiel, my man.” Brian claps him on the shoulder. “I need you in this. C’mon. An easy way to let off some steam, welcome our new neighbor. She’ll never even know what hit her.”

“Alright.” Zeke acquiesces. “But I reserve the right to back out any time I think my anonymity is gonna head out the window.”

 _Yeah,_ Jake thinks, _because you only ever care about yourself._

“Okay,” Jimmy starts, “so this is what we’re gonna do . . .”

  


...

  


When Cassandra gets home, both her parents are out. She feels a little guilty for being happy about it, but hey, she hasn’t had some ‘me’ time in _forever._ She grabs some cold pizza from the fridge (she doesn’t bother to heat it up, because contrary to popular belief, cold pizza is the _best),_ and settles on the couch with her homework.

She finishes it all in under an hour (her teachers took pity on her - all except Mr. Franklin, but his was math homework so it was easy-peasy), and since her parents still aren’t home she grabs her iPod and throws on her favorite _1975_ album and a pair of socks and starts a dance party. The floor in this house are super sleek and Cassandra is in sock slide heaven as she goes dashing around the various rooms, singing at the top of her lungs. Seriously, this is _so great._ She can almost forget about the mostly-terrible day at school, and how when her parents are home they are _absolutely_ going to be mad at her for some reason or another.

 

She collapses after a good forty-five minutes of dancing, and just lies on the couch panting. She’s sweaty and gross, but she’s also really, really happy, so it’s worth it. Until _Sex_ comes on, and before she can turn it off she finds herself singing along to the lyrics. A familiar ache shows up in her chest, and so instead of shutting the music off she sits there, motionless, until the song ends and she can kind of breathe again. She should’ve deleted that song three months ago, but instead she’d sat in front of the computer, unable to hit the _remove_ button.

 

She wishes her mom or dad would come home to jerk her out of her nostalgia, but she’s getting the hint that this is one of the nights that she waits up until the early hours. So instead she turns the tv onto some sitcom, and goes to clear up the kitchen with the cheesy laugh track going off in the background.

Once she’s finished with the dishes she goes on facebook, and sees a bunch of notifications. Things like _missing you already_ , and _how’s hickville?_ and _anytime you’re in the big apple shoot me a message! <3_ Only a few are from actual friends, so those are the ones she replies to. The whole thing leaves her drained and homesick, and even more nostalgic, so she rests her head in her hands and clicks the ‘x’ button, instead opting to go on pinterest. She’ll never actually cook any of the delicious recipes, but the combination of those and the adorable puppy pictures on her dashboard help to take away most of the gnawing feeling in her stomach.

 

She spends a couple hours there, then finally goes to get changed into her pajamas and bring up her netflix queue. She has four more seasons left on _Supernatural,_ but the lack of female characters is starting to get to her, so instead she clicks on _Pushing Daisies_ and settles into her pile of blankets with her roll of pre-made cookie dough for a marathon. (Salmonella is really not that common. Besides, cookie dough is _way_ better than actual cookies.)

 

It’s 3 am when her parents get home, and instead of facing them she closes her eyes and pretend to be asleep. It must just be one of them, because all she hears is the soft patter of feet. She breathes out a sigh of relief, and lets herself fall asleep for real.

  


...

  


“Hey, dad.” Jake says when he gets home - they’re all sitting around the table, waiting for him.

“Grace first.” His father says, gesturing for him to sit down. Jake obligingly pulls up a chair and clasps hands with his mother and Naomi. “Dear Lord,” his father starts, “we thank you for this meal. We thank you for family, and for friends, and for the hands that prepared this food. Bless Cindy and Abel on their spiritual journey, and allow us to use their example to grow closer to You. Amen.” There are echoes of _amen_ from around the table, and then Naomi jumps up to grab the spoon for the potatoes.

“Naomi! Wait for your turn.” His mother admonishes. “It’ll come around to your side of the table in a minute.”

“Yeah, ma.” Naomi says sulkily, dropping the spoon and instead going to grab a piece of steak, which is closer.

“So, dad.” Jake says once they’ve all dished out. “I’m going to be doing some studying for midterms with Zeke this week, so I won’t be able to help out on the rig after school.”

“Fine, fine.” His father says acceptingly.

“I’m sure Ezekiel’s parents will be thrilled he’s finally taking his school seriously.” His mother adds.

“Yeah, they are.” Jake lies. He isn’t sure what Zeke told his parents he’ll be doing - but they’ll have to sync up their stories later. The worst thing about living in a town where everyone knows everyone is that it’s _really_ hard to come up with foolproof excuses.

“I’m doing lots of school stuff, too.” Naomi adds petulantly, sulking that the conversation has drifted away from her.

“And what stuff has Ms. Elwell got you doing now?” Their mother asks.

“We have to read _Ramona Quimby, Age 8_ all by ourselves.” Naomi crows proudly. “We had silent reading time, and I got through a whole chapter!”

“Our baby girl’s growing up to be a genius.” Their father says with a grin, leaning over to plant a kiss on the girl’s head. She giggles and squirms away.

“I’m not a _baby._ I’m going to be eight in two months.”

“You’ll always be our baby girl.” Their mother adds with a smile.

Jake’s stomach flips over, and for some reason he thinks of Cassandra. _It’ll be fine_ , he tells himself for the nth time. _If they start to go too far, I can stop them._

He ignores the fact that, historically, he hasn’t been so great at standing up to Brian. It’ll be different this time. He’ll make sure it is.

  


...

  


Cassandra goes swimming the next morning. The pool is tiny and the water is ice-cold (maybe the heater stopped working?), so much so that she doesn’t notice that her foot is bleeding until she steps out of the pool and notices the stream of blood. “Dammit.” She curses, debating whether to keep the towel around her goosebump-ridden shoulders or to mop up the blood with it. She ends up going with the second option, because having blood all over the pool floor isn’t at _all_ sanitary, (even if she _has_ donated blood twice, so it isn’t like she has AIDS or anything,) and she doesn’t want to make someone else mop it up.

At this point she’s probably going to get hypothermia, or something. She runs back to the change room and stuffs the blood-soaked towel into her bag. It takes longer than it should for her to change, because her fingers are stiff from the cold, but when she does it’s a welcome relief to be in warm, dry clothes. It’s a little less of a relief when she steps out into the sunlight and the warmth starts sending pinpricks of pain into her body, but even this is a welcome break from the sheer ice of the pool. She’ll call tomorrow before she comes, and make sure the heater is working. And she will definitely, _definitely_ stick a toe in before she jumps into the deep end.

 

When she slips in the door, she sends up a quick plea to whatever god might exist that her parents won’t be up. But despite that, her mom is sitting at the kitchen counter. See, this is why she’s an atheist.

“Did you go out for a swim?” She asks, despite Cassandra’s dripping wet hair.

“Yep.” Cassandra replies shortly. If she can just make it to the laundry room -

“Is that _blood?”_ Well, there goes that plan.

“Yeah, I, um, cut my foot, and I had to mop it up -”

“It’s your _second day_ here, Cassandra. Can you try and keep the theatrics to a minimum?”

Cassandra can feel her breath hitching. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up.”

“Yes, you will.” Her mom replies shortly. “Because your father and I are both very busy, and we can’t spend this entire year babysitting you.”

“You won’t have to.” Cassandra replies quietly, but her voice is too soft and her mother’s voice is taking over.

“And what happened to your eye? _Please_ don’t tell me you got into a fight.”

“I walked into a post.”

 _“Really,_ Cassandra.” Her mom sighs. “If this is some sort of cry for attention -”

“I’ll cover it up.” She whispers. “You won’t even be able to tell.”

And then her mom sighs, and Cassandra takes the cue to slip past. She throws the towel into the laundry room sink, and tries to tell herself that the wetness in her eyes is from the bleach.

  


...

  


When Jake gets to school, he slips into the library for his few precious minutes of reading. He looks around for Cassandra, and tries to ignore the faint pang of disappointment he feels when he doesn’t see her. She’s probably avoiding him, anyway. He settles down into a collection of Tennyson poems and reads until the alarm on his watch beeps to let him know that he needs to leave. It’s a little bit like his morning alarm - he keeps wanting to hit the snooze button, say _five more minutes_. But in this case, he can’t, so he just places the book back on the shelf and walks around the school to enter through the front doors.

 

He spots Cassandra as soon as he rounds the corner - she’s covered up her black eye with makeup, but it’s still slightly visible, and there’s a band-aid poking it’s edge above her polka-dotted sock. If he didn’t know better he would start to think - but, no, Lamia had told him that she’d been with Cassandra when she walked into the post. So she’s just really, really clumsy.

She quits glaring at the ground long enough to look over and see him watching her, but she doesn’t immediately storm off so he takes that as a sign that maybe he isn’t _completely_ forgiven, but he can at least come and talk to her.

“Hey,” he says as he falls into step beside her. “So do you have a competition goin’ on as to how many bruises you can get before the first week of school? So you can look more bad-ass, or something? Because I can tell you right now: it ain’t gonna work.”

Cassandra glances down at her ankle and flushes. “I went swimming.” She says by way of explanation. Jake snorts.

“Yeah, don’t, uh - don’t do that. Heater’s been broken forever.”

“You couldn’t have told me that yesterday?” She asks, twisting her fingers together, but there’s a teasing note in her voice. “I’m pretty sure my limbs just about broke off.”

“Well,” Jake says with a grin, “let me be the first to say that I’m really glad that didn’t happen.”

She gives him a small smile back. So, maybe he _is_ forgiven.

  
He’s more than a little happy about that.


	3. Honey, it's alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Initiation, and an almost-date.

Cassandra isn’t really a sleeping-in kind of person, so Saturday morning she’s up bright and early. The house is already pretty much spotless, but she’s had a bunch of nervous energy ever since her dad had said the words _‘town barbecue’_ the other night. Because, really? A _town barbecue?_ She can’t even wrap her head around the idea that someone is able to cook enough food for an entire town. She honestly kind of wants to skip it, but her dad was all ‘ _It’ll be good community building_ ’ and her mom continued with the ‘ _we came here for a fresh start, so we need to make an appearance as a family_ ’, which was her way of saying she didn’t want to go either, but they need to keep up their appearance as the Perfect Family. So, instead of arguing, Cassandra works.

She finished her homework for the weekend at 4 am last night, so there’s not a lot left to do. She has her outfit for the barbecue set out on her bed, and she’s basically cleaned the entire house and is just on a second sweep when her dad comes down the stairs.

“Hey, sweetie.” He says, rubbing an eye. “You think you could keep it down? It’s a Saturday morning, for christ’s sake.”

“Sorry.” Cassandra finishes putting the windex away and wipes her hands off on her jeans. “I forgot to shut off my alarm.”

She hadn’t, but it’s better than admitting that she’s nervous. She pulls the hard-boiled eggs out of the pot of water on the stove. “Want some breakfast?”

 

...

 

“Okay.” Jimmy’s saying as they all walk together to the barbecue. “So we stay for half an hour, show everyone what sweet kids we are - and then the plan goes into action. Everyone clear on what they’re gonna do?”

There’s a chorus of _yeah_ s from around the group.

“Listen, guys -” Jake starts, but Brian cuts him off.

“You’ve had your chance to back out. You _all_ have - but you stayed. So when we do this, we do it together.”

The responses are all with various degrees of enthusiasm, but they all agree.

“Okay.” Brian says crisply, looking at his watch. “We meet up at 6:15.”

And then they scatter.

 

It’s around ten minutes before Jake spots Cassandra. She’s standing with a well-dressed and slightly disdainful looking couple who Jake assumes are her parents. She’s looking around, biting her lip, and when she sees him her eyes light up and she beelines straight for him.

“Hey.” She says breathlessly once she reaches him.

“Hey.” He echoes. _It’s going to be fine it’s going to be fine it’s going to be fine._

“The entire town really does come out to these things, huh?”

“Yep. And this is the quiet bit - give it an hour and Jimmy’ll have somethin’ on fire, half the old uncles will be tanked, and Aunt Mabel over there’ll be screeching her head off about her posies.”

Cassandra smiles. “It sounds _wonderful.”_

(It’s going to be fine.)

“Yeah.” He forces a grin, but he isn’t sure how it comes out. “They’re pretty great.”

There’s a long, awkward silence. “So,” he asks finally, “are those your parents?”

Cassandra turns to look at the couple who are now mingling with the crowd. “Yes.” She says, and there’s a tightness to her voice.

“What do they do, anyway?” He asks, genuinely curious this time.

“Oh, they’re botanists.” Cassandra says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “They normally work in a lab in New York, but some bigwig discovered these flowers growing out here that are native to Somalia and haven’t been seen at all in North America, so they decided to move out here to study them.”

“So it’s a temporary move, then?” Jake notes with annoyance that he sounds a little bit disappointed. _Don’t be stupid,_ he tells himself.

Cassandra shrugs. “We’ll probably be here until next summer - at least, that’s what my parents said. You never really know with these things.”

Jake nods like he understands, but he doesn’t - not really. His family’s lived in this town for generations, and he’s never gone further away from it than a tank of gas will take him.

He sees Jimmy waving at him, and glances down at his watch. 6:15.

“I have to go check on something for a minute.” He says hurriedly, trying his best to ignore how Cassandra’s face falls. “I’ll see you.”

“Yep.” He hears her say quietly as he jogs over to Jimmy.

“Okay, man. Everything’s in place - we’re meeting over in the trees.”

“Sure.” Jake says.

“Becky’s already started.” Jimmy continues, and the way every time he talks about this he gets an excited look on his face is making Jake sick to his stomach. Becky isn’t part of the gang per se, but she’s always eager to get on their good side, so she all but volunteered to lure Cassandra away.

“Okay.” Jake says with forced determination. “Let’s do this.”

 

...

 

“And so I was like, that’s so weird, right? Like, he must be some sort of _freak!”_

Cassandra smiles politely. After Jake left, she’d wandered around until she’d been barraged by the ball of neon standing in front of her - Betty? Becky? - and she’s been trying to come up with a good excuse to leave for the past five minutes.

“Oh - here we go!” The girl giggles and gestures for Cassandra to follow her as she dashes toward the woods.

“I actually -”

“Come on, this is the _best part.”_ She pouts. “All the seniors get to have a campfire while the adults barbecue!”

Cassandra hesitates. “I guess maybe -”

“Great!” Betty/Becky latches onto her arm and drags her towards the forest.

It’s significantly darker under the closely woven trees, and Cassandra struggles to keep up with the other girl. She stumbles over a bundle of branches, and when she looks up, the girl is gone.

“Hello?” She calls out, but there isn’t any answer. Okay, this is as good an excuse as ever. She can turn around, and if Betty/Becky asks later, she can just say she got lost and couldn’t find it -

 

Her train of thought is cut off as something grabs her from behind.

 

She lets out a shriek, and then her head is being forced into some sort of bag - a pillowcase, maybe? - and she’s kicking and elbowing but there are more hands now, and something covering her mouth, and the feeling of rope being wrapped around her ankles. She can feel herself being moved - and that’s when she _freaks the hell out_. Her thrashing becomes more desperate, and when she lashes out she hears a small gasp from someone. She kicks out with renewed vigour - she wasn’t forced into all of those krav maga classes for nothing - and then she’s falling, crashing into the ground in a bundle of knees and elbows and slamming pain. The wind gets knocked out of her, and for the next few moments her thoughts are just _breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe_. And then she makes it to her knees and pulls of the pillowcase and keeps lashing out until she has enough air to scream - and then she does, loud and piercing and long.

“For christ's sake, _shut up!”_ A voice comes from above her, and when the world stops spinning she sees that it’s one of the guys Lamia had introduced her to - Brian. And beside him are two other guys, and . . .

 

Her brain recognizes it before she does. She tastes apples, and then she realizes who she’s looking at.

 

Jake.

 

She ignores the stutter of her heartbeat as she pushes herself to her feet. When she speaks, her voice is low and trembling.

“What. The. Hell.”

“Relax, freak show.” One of the other guys - Jimmy, if she remembers correctly -  says uncomfortably. “It was just supposed to be a prank.”

“A _prank?”_ Cassandra can hear her voice getting loud - much louder than it ever gets. Too loud. “You _kidnapped_ me. You tried to _tie_ _me up!_ And then what were you going to do?”

It’s the one with an accent who speaks up this time. “We were just going to tie you up and leave you for a couple hours.”

“Oh, _is that all?_ ” Cassandra bites off. Jake is still staring determinedly at the ground. Well, fine. _Fine._ She shakes the rope off her ankles, stumbles to her feet, and starts walking. She has no idea where she’s going, but it doesn’t matter. Just as long as it isn’t here.

She’s twenty feet away and wiping at hot tears with the backs of her hands when Jake catches up with her.

“Cassandra, I -”

“Stop.” She cuts him off viciously. “Just - stop. I don’t want to hear it.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t leave either.

“Did you ever think,” she says finally, “that maybe if you didn’t want to be friends, you could just _tell_ me?”

“That’s not -” he hesitates. “I swear, I didn’t want to do this.”

“Then why did you?” Cassandra’s voice is rising again, and she laces her fingers together and focuses on her breathing, instead of the flashes of orange flickering in her vision. “Did they hold a gun to your head? Because I really don’t think they _made_ you do anything, Jake.”

He doesn’t speak for a couple of seconds, and then when he does it’s halting. “There was a kid, who moved here a couple years back. Eddie. Brian -” He swallows. “Brian thought it would be fun to amp up the Initiation a bit - that’s what we call it, pulling pranks on the new kids.”

Cassandra keeps walking, but she listens.

“So anyway, we planned it out - we were going to take Eddie out to this rickety old bridge across a river outside of town, and make him climb across it. He was a real eager-to-please guy, and we told him that if he did it, he’d be a part of our group.”

He stops, this time for long enough that Cassandra looks up at him. He’s glaring down at the ground, but she can still see the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek. “And then?” She prompts, her voice less harsh than it had been.

“He did it.” Jake swallows. “But when he was just about to reach the other edge, he - he fell. The water below was really shallow - we thought he was going to die.”

“But he didn’t?”

“No. But he was in the hospital for weeks, and when he came out he was paraplegic. Doctor said he’ll never walk again.”

Cassandra lets it sink in. “So what does that have to do with me?”

Jake looks up, finally. “I needed to be there.” He says, like it’s obvious. “To make sure they didn’t do anything like that to you.”

Cassandra keeps walking in silence for a few moments. “Okay.” She finally says, and Jake’s head snaps up.

“Really? That’s it?” He asks incredulously.

Cassandra nods. “Just - no more secrets that involve me, okay?” She asks, and Jake’s eyes light up.

“Deal.” He agrees. “Although, now that I’ve said that -”

“Oh, no.” Cassandra moans, unsure of what to expect.

Jake grins and turns her so she’s facing what was previously her right. “The barbecue’s that way.”

 

...

 

When they reach the barbecue, Jake’s still reeling from everything - and if _he’s_ feeling this way, he can’t even imagine how Cassandra’s doing. She hadn’t said anything the rest of the walk back, just fiddled with her hands and studied the way bits of light fell onto the leaves, and he hadn’t forced her to.

“Want somethin’ to eat?” He asks, and she jerks up, almost like she’d forgotten he was there.

“Oh, um - I’m actually vegetarian.” She says with a slight flush in her cheeks. “You go ahead, though -”

“No way.” Jake replies. “There’s this little milkshake spot down the street; the owner’s this lady, Ms. Olvera - absolutely _hates_ town barbecues, so it’s always the only place open during these things.”

“Really?” Cassandra asks, her eyes lighting up. “You wouldn’t mind?”

He can’t help his laugh, ducking his head and disguising it as a cough just in time. “‘Course not.” He says, and the way she smiles and rolls onto her tiptoes makes his stomach flip over. _Get it together,_ he tells himself.

(Like that would ever work.)

 

“Okay,” he says after a minute of silence. “Truth.”

Cassandra looks over at him in confusion. “Sorry?”

“You know, the game?” He says, but when she still looks confused he elaborates. “It’s like truth or dare - except without the dare bit. You have to be honest, and if you pass on a question, then you get to ask me one, and if I answer it, then I win. Make sense?”

“Is this what guys do at slumber parties?” Cassandra asks, and Jake shoots her a look. “What?” She asks innocently, with a hint of a grin. “It’s just - I always thought that was more of a girl thing.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He mutters.

“Okay, you go first.” Cassandra says, skipping forward. He tries to hide his smile - she’s like a giant ball of excitement.

“Favorite book.” He says instantly, and her brow furrows.

“That’s literally the _worst_ question to start with.”

“Does that mean you’re backing out?”

“No way!” She replies instantly. “I just - I need a minute.” Her walking slows to a normal pace as she thinks. “Okay - The Outsiders.”

“Really?” Jake asks, because he’d expected it either to be a cutesy romance novel, or some long book on mathematics.

“Really.” She replies adamantly. “It’s so _real,_ you know? That conversation where Cherry and Ponyboy talk about the sunsets - that always made a lot of sense to me. _Things are rough all over._ Besides,” she adds as an afterthought, before he can think too much about what she said, “I always kind of thought I would grow up to be Cherry, because I had red hair and was completely in love with Dally.”

Jake laughs at that. “Alright, your turn.”

She thinks for a minute. “How do you actually feel about living here?”

 _Ouch._ Jake takes a second to form his answer. “I love my family, and my friends.” He says cautiously.

“But?” Cassandra inquires softly. He shrugs, looks at his feet.

“It’s like - sometimes, it’s like I need to get out, y’know? Like this place is - is suffocating me. But it’s also like the longer I stay here, the harder it is to think about leaving.”

“That sucks.” She says in a quiet voice.

“Yeah, well.” He replies. “It is what it is.”

He doesn’t get a chance to ask the next question, because then they’re at _The Little Milkshake & Burger Shoppe_.

“Do they just add the extra ‘pe’ on the end to make it look fancy?” Cassandra asks, squinting her eyes at the sign.

“It’s the middle english spelling.” He says, then - “But basically, yeah.”

They step inside, and he watches as Cassandra’s jaw drops. She takes a few cautious steps, like it might break apart at any second.

 

The store is modelled like a 50s soda shop, from the black and white checkered floors to the red stools and curly-lettered menu. Cassandra has the look of a child in a candy store, with wide eyes and an awestruck expression - that is, until she winces suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Jake asks instantly, taking a step towards her.

“No, no, it’s fine.” She says automatically. “The smell was just really strong.”

He waits for an explanation, but none is forthcoming. And there’s nothing except the faint smell of fries cooking in the back.

“Oh, sorry.” She says, when she looks over at him and sees his blank expression. “I have synesthesia - it’s, um, a condition where all five -”

“- Senses are intertwined, right.” Jake finishes.

“Yeah.” She says, surprised. “Anyways - anything 50s smells like smoke.”

“Sucks.” Jake says, but she shakes her head.

“It’s usually not that strong. And besides, it’s not cigarette smoke, it’s smoke from a campfire. Which is pretty much the _greatest_ smell ever.”

Jake shakes his head.

“What?” She demands.

“Nothin'.” He replies innocently. “You’re entitled to your own opinion.”

“Which is the _right_ one.” She says adamantly.

“Hey, so does that mean I have some sort of smell, or taste, or something?” Jake asks curiously.

“Yep.” She replies distractedly, suddenly very interested in the menu. Her cheeks are even turning a little red, though Jake can’t imagine why. “You taste like apples.” She immediately flushes an even darker red. “I mean, when I see you, I taste apples. Not that you -”

“I know what you meant.” Jake replies, a little flushed himself for whatever reason. It’s not like he’s imagining what her lips would taste like, or anything -

 

Okay, he needs to nip that thought in the bud. And luckily, Ms. Olvera comes out of the back just at that moment.

“What can I get you two kids?” She asks dryly.

“Fries and a chocolate milkshake.” Jake orders for himself, then looks over at Cassandra.

“Um, I’ll get the same.” She says hesitantly. “Except, strawberry for the milkshake.”

“Strawberry? Really?” He teases. “Over _chocolate?”_

“Absolutely.” She replies staunchly. “Strawberry is without a doubt the best flavour in everything.” And, when he opens his mouth - “And don’t say anything weird, like cheese, because chocolate doesn’t taste good with that either.”

Jake shuts his mouth with a grin. “Alright, alright.” He acquiesces, as Ms. Olvera slides over their orders.

“Paying together or separate?” She asks, and Cassandra starts to say _separate,_ but Jake cuts her off.

“Together.” He says, pulling out his wallet. It isn’t until after he’s paid and Ms. Olvera’s retreated to the back that he notices Cassandra looking at him strangely. He realizes, after a second of reflection, that him paying could’ve been construed as a date-like thing. “Think of this as an extension of my apology.” He says to lift the awkwardness. Not that he would exactly _hate_ the idea of this being a date - but, he didn’t ask her. And, due to the fact that he’d been a participant in her kidnapping less than an hour earlier, he wasn’t altogether certain she would’ve said yes.

“Okay.” Cassandra says without a hint of the turmoil that’s running through his head. “But this is the last time you get to apologize. After this, we’re even. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am.” He agrees, taking a few fries and dipping them in his milkshake.

“What are you _doing?”_ Cassandra asks, with the voice of someone watching a child massacre. He looks up in surprise.

“Eating?”

“No, no, no.” Cassandra shakes her head violently. “What you’re doing is a - a _disgrace_ to food everywhere.”

“What? Dipping french fries in a milkshake?”

 _“Yes.”_ She says emphatically. “You know that conversation we were having, about how cheese and chocolate don’t mix?”

“It wasn’t really a _conversation.”_ Jake mumbles around another handful of fries.

“Well, french fries and chocolate are another one of those combinations.” Cassandra continues.

“You only say that because you’ve never tried it.” Jake accuses, sliding his milkshake over to her. She gives him a long look.

“Jake.”

“Cassandra.”

“That is literally _the most_ disgusting thing I can imagine eating.”

“One bite.”

“No.”

“One bite, and I’ll promise never to grab your hair and call you _carrots,_ like Gilbert Blythe.”

“I’d do worse to you than break a slate over your head.” Then, “Fine. One bite.” She takes exactly one french fry and dips it in his milkshake, before holding it tentatively between two fingers and glaring at it. “And can I state, for the record, how horrifically unsanitary this is?”

“Just eat the damn fry, Cassie.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She mutters, then pops it into her mouth. She winces in anticipation, but as she chews Jake can see the expression on her face change.

“Good, right?” He presses triumphantly.

Cassandra waits until she’s finished chewing. “It might not be _quite_ as bad as I thought it would be originally.” She admits reluctantly. Jake grins.

“Told ya so. Okay, but let me warn you, _never_ try it with the strawberry . . .”

 

They talk until the sun starts to set on the horizon and Jake realizes exactly how long they’ve been sitting there. He sees Cassandra glance at the clock and come to the same realization.

“I should probably be getting back.” She says with a sigh.

“Walk you home?” Jake asks, sliding off the stool, and she looks over at him sharply. It’s another one of those almost-date things, but he doesn’t take it back.

“Sure.” She replies finally, following him out of the shop. “But remember, our game of Truth is ongoing for an indeterminate length, and it’s your turn to ask the question.”

“Slave driver.” He replies, turning down the long street lined by brilliant pink and purple redbud trees.

“Wimp.”

“Sadist.”

 

 

“I’ll, um, see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yep.”

“‘Night, Jake.”

“‘Night, Cassie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments = happy writer. The title from this chapter is from the song of the same name by the never-less-than-astounding Gregory Alan Isakov.


	4. To the dust again I fell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things Cassandra needs: a nap, decent parents, and a friend who's good enough to know when she hasn't had either in a really long time.

Cassandra has too much running through her head, too much restless energy, so instead of bed she takes out her laptop and scrolls down pinterest for a couple of hours. After that she still isn’t tired, so she makes herself a cup of tea and pulls up Rosetta Stone French on her computer.

By the time she’s finished a few lessons the sun is rising, so there’s really no point in going to bed anymore. Besides, the sun is rising over some of those beautiful trees with the pink and purple blossoms, so she grabs her camera and goes outside to take some pictures.

They don’t turn out as well as she’d hoped, but it’s gorgeous out here, and the wind is soft and cool against her skin, so she settles onto the grass with the camera gently resting on her lap, and she stays to watch the sunrise.

 

By the time the last rays of pink disappear into the clouds the town is starting to rise, so Cassandra slips back into the house. Her pajamas smell like crisp air and freshly grown grass, and she loves it so much she delays getting dressed - instead choosing to snuggle into a heap of blankets and turns up the news.

She can only watch for the ten minutes before the death and violence starts to get to her, so she aimlessly flips through the channels until she lands on a _Veronica Mars_ rerun.

“Christ.” Her dad’s voice comes from the stairs, just as she’s a few minutes into the episode. “Thousands of dollars sunk into years of private school, and this is what you choose to fill your head with?”

“I was watching the news earlier.” Cassandra protests faintly.

“Sure you were, kid.” He moves to the kitchen and starts brewing a pot of coffee. “Listen, your mom and I are going to be gone for the day. Try to waste less of your time on this crap and actually get some work done, okay?”

“Yeah, dad.”

There’s a brief pause where Cassandra debates changing the channel or continuing with the episode, before her dad speaks up again.

“Oh, and a letter came in for you yesterday.”

“Really?” Cassandra asks, because she hadn’t given her address out to anyone that she can recall, and who even writes _letters_ anyway?

“Yep. No return address, though.” He tosses it over to her. It hits the floor, and Cassandra reaches down to grab it.

The address is typed, and there isn’t any indication as to who it could be from. The envelope is cool in her hands, and a strange sort of hesitation takes over her, so she lays it in her lap and switches the channel back to the news.

“Any of that coffee for me?” Her mother asks, descending the stairs.

“Sorry, there’s only enough for one cup.” Her dad replies. Cassandra ignores the nagging feeling that surfaces whenever one of them does something like this; the idea that maybe this isn’t just a thoughtless act, maybe the little things are getting bigger, more purposeful.

“Honestly, Ted.” Her mother snaps. “Would it have killed you to brew a full pot?”

“Well, Dianne, maybe if you actually helped out around here and made your _own_ coffee every once in a while -”

“Oh, don’t even start. I do exactly as much around here as you do, and we both know how often I pick up your slack around work -”

 _“My_ slack? What was that last note you got from Akker - ‘careless work, including reports lacking several key elements’, wasn’t it?”

“Well, I’m sorry I don’t _sleep_ with everyone to get a better review -”

“For the last time, I never slept with Jenny! Although you and Mark always seemed pretty comfortable around each other -”

 

Cassandra slips up to her room.

 

Once she’s there, she sits cross-legged on the end of her bed and turns the envelope over. She breaks the seal cautiously, like she isn’t sure what to find - and when she opens the letter and sees the familiar curly writing, she knows her apprehension was justified.

 

_I miss you. Please call me._

_I’m sorry._

_~H_

She goes to rip it up, but her fingers won’t cooperate with her mental commands. So she folds it up and sticks it in a drawer. And then she turns on her music, loud enough to drown out the shouting coming from downstairs, and loud enough so even she can’t hear her sobs.

  


She drinks five cups of coffee once she has the house to herself, and she stays up through the night. It’s better than the dreams would be.

  


...

  


When Jake goes to school on Monday morning, the first thing he does is head to the library, as usual. Cassandra’s there, sitting over in her now-designated corner, and he gives her a quick smile which she reciprocates with an added wave, before he heads over to his corner.

 

It’s gotten to the point where he kind of subconsciously watches her out of the corner of his eyes, and today something’s different - her hands and shaking just a little, and she stares determinedly at the book for a good five minutes without ever flipping a page.

“Hey, Cassie.” He finally says, and she jumps, so hard the book falls off her lap onto the floor.

“Yeah?” She asks with a small shake of her head.

“You alright?”

“Fine.” She says, but she won’t meet his eyes.

“Cassandra -”

“You know, um, I just remembered I need to talk to Ms. Phillips before class. I’ll see you later.” She jumps up to leave, and it’s a second before Jake realizes she left her bag - and the open book - lying on the floor. Okay, something is seriously up.

He puts the book back on the shelf and grabs the bag to give back to her in Pre-Calc. Assuming she’ll be there, at least. He’s never seen her be anything but perfectly composed, Initiation-day aside, so this is a little unnerving, to say the least.

“Hey, man.” Brian catches up to him in the hall. “She’s got you carrying her bag around, now? Dude, you are _whipped.”_

“Shut up.” Jake says tersely. Brian throws his hands up in a mocking gesture.

“Whatever. All I wanted to say was, make sure she doesn’t rat about Saturday, okay? My parents would kill me.”

Jake stares at him in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Of course not.” Brian’s voice is getting colder. “Look, if you want to fuck her, whatever. Just make sure she doesn’t talk.”

Jake gives him a long look. A good part of him wants to hit Brian - a not unfamiliar feeling, but usually it isn’t accompanied by this much white-hot anger. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair and turns to walk away.

 

Cassandra’s late for class, and Jake’s stomach falls. What if she _isn’t_ coming? What if something happened, and nobody noticed? What if -

His downward spiral of worry is cut short when she staggers through the doors, ten minutes late.

“Ms. Cillian.” Mr. Franklin says with undisguised glee. “Please see me after class.”

Cassandra doesn’t even acknowledge that he spoke, just slips into the seat next to Jake, ducking her head.

“Hey.” He whispers, and her head jerks up to look at him. He kicks the bag over to her seat. “You forgot that in the library.”

“Oh.” She looks at the bag with a blank expression. “Thanks.”

He opens his mouth to say something else - _are you sure you’re okay,_ maybe, or _how drunk were you to get this hungover,_ but nothing comes out. Instead, he settles back into his seat and keeps Cassandra in the corner of his vision.

 

He gets exactly nothing out of the lesson, he’s too busy worrying. Cassandra’s eyes have been flickering shut every couple seconds, and he remembers reading about something like this - microsleeps, or something. Whatever they’re called, you have to be _really_ tired to have them. So he waits until after class, until the room’s cleared out for everyone except for him, Cassandra, and Mr. Franklin, and he nudges her to let her know to get up.

“What?” She asks groggily.

“You have to go talk to Mr. Franklin now.” He says softly. She nods, placing her hands firmly on the desk as a barrier as she tries to push herself to her feet - and fails pretty spectacularly. Jake grabs her arms gently and lifts her to her feet.

“Thanks.” She mutters, cautiously walking forward until she’s standing at the front desk.

“I don’t recall asking _you_ to stay after class, Mr. Stone.” The teacher says sharply, without looking up from his stack of papers.

“Yeah, I just thought I’d -”

The teacher glares at him over his glasses. “Go. Now.”

Jake glances reluctantly over at Cassandra, who’s bracing herself on the edge of the desk. “Okay.” He murmurs, walking slowly out of the room.

He waits just outside the door. Mr. Franklin’s speaking too softly to hear anything, but he can see Cassandra swaying a little through the crack in the door. After a few minutes, she makes her way a little shakily to the door, where he’s waiting.

“Hey.” He says, reaching an arm around her waist automatically. “What’s your next class?”

“Biology.” She says, then quickly adds, “But you don’t need to walk me there. I’ll be fine.”

“‘Course you will be.” Jake says with a sigh. “But honestly - how long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“Only like, three hours.” She mumbles, staring adamantly at the ground when she says it. Jake rolls his eyes.

“Okay, pinocchio. I’m walking you to Bio anyway.”

“You’re a little annoying when you’re stubborn.” Cassandra yawns, leaning into his side. Jake rolls his eyes, but resists the urge to say _ditto._

 

“You’ll be okay?” He asks, when they reach the Biology classroom. Cassandra’s smile is half exasperation, half something else.

“Yes, Jake. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” He says, then hesitates as he gets an idea. “Do you want to come over after school?”

“To your house?” Cassandra asks, sounding surprised. Which, maybe it was a little out of the blue. But whatever.

“Yeah. We can hang out for a couple of hours, you can stay for supper, whatever.”

“Sure.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “See you after school.”

“See ya.”

 

He waits outside the classroom for a couple minutes after she heads in. And then he shakes his head, tells himself he’s overreacting, and walks away.

  


...

  


Cassandra isn’t really sure how she’s able to make it through the rest of the day - just that she’s going to have to beg notes off of Lamia later, because there’s no way in _hell_ she’s able to do more than barely stay awake in class. She grabs another cup of coffee in between classes, which helps a little with the walking/talking thing, but not so much with the shaking or the attention span of .3 seconds.

During her lunch break she realizes she forgot to pack herself something to eat (it’s fine, she isn’t really hungry anyways), so she heads to her locker instead to grab the books needed to bully herself into doing some homework over the break.

“Hey, freak show.”

She turns around at the unexpected voice, and freezes. It’s one of the guys from the “initiation”, the one with the accent. “Um.” She doesn’t think it would be completely acceptable to start off a conversation with ‘leave me the hell alone’. “Hi...”

“Zeke.” He supplies. “Or Ezekiel. Take your pick.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she says, despite her ice-cold tone, “but what are you doing here?”

“Here as in the cosmos of the universe, or here as in standing here talking to you?”

“The second one.” She _really_ doesn’t have time for this conversation.

“Ah, well, that one’s easier. Jake sent me.”

 _“What?”_ Out of all answers, this is one she hadn’t expected.

“Apparently, you two have separate lunch breaks on Mondays, and he wanted to make sure you didn’t, I don’t know, explode? Have a psychotic break? Unleash your magic powers and turn the entire school into rats? He wasn’t very clear on the details.”

“Well, I’m fine.” Cassandra snatches her books from the locker with a little more ferocity than is probably necessary. “And I have homework to do.”

Ezekiel raises his hands in surrender. “And trust me, on any other day, that would be _more_ than enough to get rid of me. But see, I owe Jake big time. So despite the fact that you don’t like me and I _really_ don’t like homework, it looks like we’ll be spending the next -” he checks his watch - “twenty-six minutes together.”

Cassandra would argue any other day, but today she just shrugs and heads down to the library.

“Oi, freak show - about the other night....”

Cassandra looks up from her book - wait, book? She glances around to see that she’s sitting in the corner of the library, and she can’t even remember the walk over. She sips her coffee - did she get that on the way over? - and shoots Ezekiel her most intimidating look.

“I just want to make sure we’re both on the same page. If I get into any more trouble, I’m headed straight back to boarding school in Australia.” Cassandra tucks this piece of information away in her mind - she’s been wondering about the accent.

“I won’t say anything.” She says, more to make him stop talking than anything. She wasn’t _going_ to tell anyone in the first place.

“Alright then.” The bell rings, and Ezekiel shoots her a sloppy salute as he gets to his feet. “See you later, mate.” And then he heads out.

Cassandra pushes herself to her feet, and leaves the book where it’s at because she’s not totally sure she won’t drop it with the amount she’s shaking. _Just three more hours_ , she tells herself. Oh, except - Jake. And her parents are home today, so she’ll have to stay up until a decent hour so they don’t think she’s sick (or at least pretending to be). And then she’ll have to go face that letter -

So, whatever, she can go another night without sleep. It won’t kill her. She can call in sick tomorrow, and sleep on the couch while her parents are at work. It’ll be fine.

 

She trips on the way out, the contents of her bag scattering across the floor as the wind is knocked out of her. She lies there for a moment, before the agony of getting to her feet.

(Maybe it won’t be fine, after all.)

 

After school, Jake is sitting out on the steps waiting for her when she comes out, even though she knows he usually likes to slip out to the library.

“How’s it going?” He asks nonchalantly as he stands up, but his wary expression and the way his hand reaches around to hover at the edge of her waist tells her he’s still unnecessarily worried. But she’s had, like, five cups of coffee already. She can handle it.

“Which way to the palace?” She jokes, but it falls flat. Jake gestures over to a rusty old pickup that’s sitting in the parking lot, and she follows him over. He holds open the door for her and waits until she’s inside before slipping around to the driver’s side.

The truck’s engine is too loud for conversation, which is good because at this point even basic conversation is exhausting. Is it possible for her to get by with just nodding and shaking her head for the rest of the day?

 

They finally pull up in front of what she assumes is Jake’s house - and it’s quite possibly the cutest thing she’s ever seen. It’s painted white with green trimmings, there’s an oak tree growing in front, and it not only has a white picket fence, but the windows have _shutters._ She bites her lip and tries to keep her excitement down, but when Jake looks over at her and grins she knows he can see right through her.

“It’s so _cute!”_ She exclaims with a burst of air.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. It’s stereotypical, is what it is.”

“Which doesn’t take away from the fact that you live in the most adorable house I’ve ever seen.” Cassandra replies staunchly, as Jake goes around the outside of the truck and puts his hands gently on her waist to lift her down. She would object, but his truck is _huge,_ and the jump down is nearly as tall as she is, and knowing her luck she’d probably fall and break her nose, so.

 

When they walk into the house it’s exactly as wonderful as she’d imagined it - wood furniture, a gas stove (A GAS STOVE. She didn’t even know people still had those), and a little fireplace all greet her.

“This is _adorable.”_ She squeals, ignoring Jake’s attempt at apathy.

“If you use one more synonym for _cute,_ Cassandra, I swear -”

“Okay, okay. But even you can’t deny that it is.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He says, then takes a long look at her.

“What?” She demands, too tired to even be self-conscious.

“Do you even realize how terrible you look?” He asks in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Well, thank god I have you to clear that up for me.” Cassandra replies sarcastically. Seriously, what the _hell?_

“Jesus, Cassie, you know what I mean. You’re shaking so much you’re practically falling over.”

“I’m not -” she glances down at her hands. Oh.

“Yeah, _oh.”_ He replies, which means she now can’t distinguish between what she’s thinking and what she’s saying. Wonderful. “C’mere.” He starts heading towards the stairs, and Cassandra balks.

“What -”

“Come on.” Jake says firmly, grasping her shoulders and gently pushing her up the stairs.

“Where are we going?” Cassandra snaps. Jake sighs loudly and continues to propel her forward. Once they hit the top of the stairs, he opens the first door to the right.

Inside, it’s a typical guy’s room - clothes strewn across the floor, some action movie posters on the walls. And then it hits her - this is _Jake’s_ room. She turns to him and raises an eyebrow, trying to hide the slight flush in her cheeks. He scowls deeper, then gives her a little push forward. “Sleep.” He says, folding his arms. Cassandra takes a second to realize that yes, he is serious.

“Are you actually -” She cuts off, and rephrases. “I wouldn’t want to -”

“Cassie.” Jake says with an exasperated sigh. Maybe she would’ve sounded a little more convincing if her words hadn’t come out slurred. And she would protest, really, but she’s gone, like, 58 hours without sleep and she’s pretty sure she’s been hallucinating off and on for the past five hours and sleep sounds _so wonderful_ that she just barely manages to make it to the bed before she collapses. She hears Jake mutter something, but moving her lips to ask what he said is too much work, and before she knows it everything is drifting away.

 


	5. Of never feeling it again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight, a secret, a barn dance, and a poem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what Cassandra's outfit is based off of: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/505458758149241131/, and this is a slightly more advanced version of Jake and Cassandra's swing dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KaOFhdZRtRY  
> Chapter title from 'High Hopes' by Kodaline.  
> I completely encourage you to listen to the songs as they're mentioned. Country music is a lot of fun.

Jake watches as her breathing evens out, and her hands relax from where they’d been clutching the blankets. He lingers in the doorway for a minute, before flipping off the light switch and softly closing the door.

He patters down the stairs, only to jump when his mother rounds the corner.

“Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t know you were home.” She says, walking over to stir something on the stove that smells suspiciously like corned beef hash.

“Oh, yeah.” Jake clears his throat. He’s not sure if it’s easier to not say anything, or to try and explain why he has an unconscious girl - one that his mother hasn’t met, no less - in his bed.

 

He doesn’t say anything.

 

He calls Lamia when he’s able to sneak a phone off to his room. “So,” He starts off, “this might be a strange request.”

“Shoot.” Lamia sighs, like she knows what she’s getting into and is already regretting it.

“Can you call Cassandra’s parents and tell them she’ll be staying over at your house tonight?”

There’s a long pause at the other end of the line. “If this has anything to do with the Initiation -”

“It doesn’t, Lamia. I swear.”

There’s a sigh. “Okay.” She agrees. “But, Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Just - be careful, okay?” There’s a warning note to her voice. “I don’t want to see you or Cassandra get hurt.”

Then she hangs up, leaving Jake feeling lost in more ways than one.

  


...

  


When Cassandra wakes up, for the first time in ages she feels actually refreshed, and the urge to stay in bed isn’t from the dread of putting her feet on the floor and forcing her muscles to work, it’s simply because she’s comfortable where she is.

Until, of course, she remembers _where_ she is.

She jerks up, glancing around for a clock, her eyes landing on the glowing white number 7:36 glaring up at her. 7:36 _am._

Oh, _shit._

Just as she’s starting to freak out, a soft knock comes from the door. “Yeah?” She whispers, and the door creaks open just enough for Jake to stick his head in.

“How are you feeling?” He whispers back.

Cassandra lets out a relieved sigh. _“Wonderful.”_

“Good. But, hey, you should probably get up so you’ll have time to run back to your house for new clothes.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Cassandra runs a hand through her hair, suddenly self conscious. She pushes that to the back of her mind, and rolls - or, rather, falls - out of bed and scrambles to follow Jake out of the room and down the stairs. A thought hits her, and she freezes. “Your parents -”

“Are asleep.” Jake assures her - he wouldn’t want his parents to witness her ‘walk of shame’ any more than she would, she realizes.

She follows him into the kitchen as her mind latches onto the next obstacle. _“My_ parents -”

“Think you’re staying at Lamia’s.” He rolls his eyes and shoves a plate of scrambled eggs across the counter to her. It takes her mind a second to wrap around it.

“You called Lamia?”

“Yep.”

“And you made me _breakfast?”_

“Shut up.” He scowls, which only makes Cassandra’s smile grow brighter.

“Thank you.” She says sincerely, before tucking into the eggs with gusto - and holy _crap,_ these are delicious.

“So.” Jake says, after he’s finished off his own plate in a truly impressive amount of time. “You wanna talk about last night?”

Cassandra suddenly becomes very interested in her plate. He sighs. “C’mon, Cassie. You don’t just up and decide not to sleep for however many days.”

She downs the last bit of her eggs and pushes the plate back. “I really have to go home and get changed.” She says firmly, turning to leave.

“Cassandra -”

“No, you know what, how about we don’t do this.” She turns back to face him, and the words are spitting out with more ferocity than she’d ever intended. “Because if we get into the big emotional backstory, you’ll have to explain why you are so worried about your family seeing you with a book between your fingers, or why you’re friends with assholes whose greatest aspirations are kidnapping people and getting high, who couldn’t care less about Yeats or Lord Byron or whatever other author you read like they’re the air you _breathe.”_

She lets that last bit out with a gasp, and waits with curled-up fingers digging their nails into her skin as Jake looks away mutely.

“Yeah.” She says bitterly, snatching up her bag and turning to head outside. “That’s what I thought.”

  


...

  


“So, Jake.” Lamia dashes up behind him in the school hallway, making him jump and muffle his curse.

“Dammit, Lamia. Can you just walk up like a normal person?”

“Fuck off.” She replies good-naturedly. “Okay, so since I got all caught up in whatever the hell you were doing last night, I am owed an explanation.”

Jake sighs. “She was just - she was super tired, okay? And she ended up falling asleep at my place, and I didn’t want to wake her up - _ow!”_ The last bit is in response to Lamia pinching his arm. “What was that for?”

“Come _on,_ Jake. You are so head over heels for this girl and you don’t even know it.”

“It’s not like that.” He scowls, which prompts an eyeroll from Lamia.

“Yeah, sure.”

He hesitates. “I’m just - a little worried about her. She changes the subject every time I try to talk about it.”

“Yeah, well.” Lamia grimaces. “That’s because it’s kind of - well, it’s not a pretty story.”

Jake’s jaw drops. “She told _you?”_

“What can I say? Ladies love me.” Lamia smirks. “But, no, seriously. I might have done some digging this morning, when I couldn’t find you.”

“And?” Jake tries to sound nonchalant, and fails miserably.

“Well, she went through a pretty bad breakup back in New York.” Lamia grimaces. “Poor girl. The girl she was seeing already had a boyfriend she didn’t feel like mentioning until four months into the relationship.”

“Ouch.” Jake winces, until the whole sentence sinks in. “Wait, _she?_ Cassandra’s -”

“She’s bi, so don’t have a heart attack.” Lamia smirks. “But yeah. And her parents are kinda shitty from what I’ve seen of them - which isn’t much, because they are literally _never_ home. So, all in all, she’s doing pretty well.”

Jake lets it sink in. “So.” He says, then doesn’t continue. Lamia sighs dramatically.

“So, this means you should get your shit together, apologize for pushing, and ask her to the dance next Friday.”

“What? She isn’t even _talking_ to me right now, much less -”

“Jesus, Jake. Just ask the girl out.” Lamia interjects, and before he can reply she slips off into her classroom.

He sucks in his breath, and he goes to find Cassandra.

 

She isn’t in the library, so he goes wandering through the halls until he spots her in one of the classrooms talking to someone.

“....which is why, when you take his theorem into account, the total would be three point two _four.”_ She finishes excitedly.

“Fascinating!” The man Cassandra’s speaking with turns just enough for Jake to see that it’s Mr. Carsen, Principal Baird’s husband. Or, at least, that’s what everyone in town assumes he is. Principal Baird’s lived in Annicks for five years, but she’s pretty closed-lips about her personal life, and Mr. Carsen is always darting off to some dig site halfway across the world. They both wear wedding bands, though, and he lives with Baird when he’s in town, so that’s the explanation everyone settled on.

Jake hangs out in the open doorway, filtering out the math talk before his head starts to spin, until Cassandra glances over and sees him.

“I actually have somewhere to be,” she tells Mr. Carsen apologetically. “But it was lovely speaking with you.”

“And yourself.” Mr. Carsen replies with a smile, snatching up a large duffel and briskly striding out of the classroom, leaving Jake and Cassandra alone.

“Hey.” Jake starts off.

“Hi.” Cassandra mumbles, ducking her head behind her curtain of red hair as she reaches to collect her books.

“So, I, uh, I talked to Lamia.” He mutters awkwardly, and he can see the red rising on Cassandra’s cheeks even as she studiously avoids his gaze.

“What I told her wasn’t exactly supposed to be public knowledge.” She snaps.

“I know, I was just...” Jake trails off. “I was worried.”

“Well, don’t be.” Cassandra replies defiantly. “I’m fine.”

She doesn’t look ready to talk, so Jake takes a deep breath and switches tactics. “They wouldn’t understand.” Cassandra’s head snaps up to look at him, mildly confused. “Everyone here.” He elaborates. “This - this _thing,_ in my head. No one here would understand. They like what’s safe, what they can understand. Right now, I’m safe, I’m one of them. But as soon as I give anyone a glimpse at what’s hiding up here -” he gestures at his head.

“You’d be an outsider.” Cassandra finishes softly.

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then, “You’ll get stuck here, you know. Like a fly in amber.”

“So’ll you.” Is all Jake responds, but even as he says it he knows it isn’t true. There’s no force on this earth that can stop Cassandra Cillian.

 

He finally works up the nerve to ask after school, when they’re sitting on the old wooden swingset out behind the corner store. It slips out all at once. “Doyouwannagotothedancewithme?”

“Slow down, cowboy.” Cassandra laughs, her tiptoes gently brushing the grass. Jake coughs and clears his throat.

“Do you, um, want to go to the barn dance with me next Friday?”

Cassandra pushes her feet against the ground so her swing turns around and around until the chains are twisted together in the same way that his stomach is twisting into knots.

When she finally comes to a stop, her entire face is lit up. “Yes.” She replies, biting her lip as the corners of her eyes crinkle up.

“Okay.” He lets out a deep breath of air. “Okay, cool. Good.”

 

He doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

  


...

  


When Friday finally comes around, Cassandra’s a wreck.

Jake’s been wonderful, about everything. He hasn’t pressured her to talk about anything she doesn't want to, and whenever he notices that she’s looking tired, he all but forces her to come over after school and nap for a couple of hours. (It’s weird. She knows it’s weird. But then, everything’s been weird since she met Jake.)

But right now, the reason she’s a wreck has nothing to do with her parents, or with the letter that’s still tucked under her mattress. No, right now she’s verging on a panic attack because of the dance. What do you even wear to a barn dance, anyway? She stares at the seven different outfits laying on her bed, and lets out a pained sigh. Defeated, she grabs her cell and hits speed dial 4.

“Yeah.” The voice on the end picks up.  
“I need help.” Cassandra blurts out.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t know what to wear.”

“Oh, my god.”

_“Lamia.”_

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be right over.”

Cassandra hops down the stairs and spends the next minute and forty-three seconds pacing anxiously around the living room. When she sees Lamia walking up, she dashes over to the door and swings it open just as Lamia’s raising a hand to knock.

Lamia blinks, wide-eyed. “Okay. You need to calm down.”

“Not really an option.” Cassandra replies, closing the door behind Lamia and all but dragging her up the stairs. “Okay.” She demands, once they’re standing in her room. “What do I wear?”

Lamia surveys the clothes strewn across the room with the look of a war veteran looking at a battlefield. “Look, I get that this is your big date with Jake and everything so you’re going to freak out a little, but there’s really nothing to get worked up about. These things aren’t really dressy - just wear a skirt and you’re good.” She glances over at Cassandra, who’s still in the white top and floral skirt she’d worn to school. “Honestly, you could just wear that.”

Cassandra slumps over and puts her head in her hands. “I’m a mess.” She mumbles, and Lamia laughs.

“You should’ve seen me before my first date with Kayley.” She says with a roll of her eyes. “You look downright levelheaded compared to me.”

“Really?” Cassandra asks doubtfully.

“Really.” Lamia replies, pulling Cassandra to her feet. “Now c’mon, let’s find you something to wear.”

 

 

...

  


When Jake shows up at Cassandra’s doorstep, it’s not without a good deal of trepidation and just general nerves. She would’ve realized it was supposed to be a date, right? What if she’d already gone over to the dance, not even thinking he’d walk her over? What if -

The door opens before he’s even worked up the nerve to knock, and a part of him freezes at the sight of Cassandra standing in the doorway.

“I saw you standing at the door.” She says shyly. Her hair is half pulled back with the rest falling in ringlets around her shoulders, and she’s dressed in a white v-neck sundress adorned with tiny flowers and cowboy boots that look suspiciously worn for someone who’s never lived in the country. “Lamia loaned me a few things.” She says with a sheepish glance down at the boots, and Jake can feel his face heat up at the realization that his staring was less than subtle.

“You look beautiful.” He says, and Cassandra’s eyes light up even as her cheeks flush as red as his own.

“Thank you. You look very handsome, too.” She twists her fingers together and pushes her palms down as she lifts her heels just off the ground, which Jake’s noticed she does when she’s nervous.

“You wanna walk over?” He asks, trying to deflect the layer of awkwardness.

“Sure.” Cassandra replies in a relieved voice, falling into step beside him as he turns to walk down the driveway. “Where is the barn dance, anyway? Is it actually in a barn?”

“That’s part o’ the appeal, sweetheart.” He laughs, the word slipping out before he even realizes it. He glances over at Cassandra to see if she noticed, but her expression hasn’t changed, so he continues. “Old Billie James has a barn on the edge of town he never uses and he won’t get rid of, because he keeps food out for this wild mare that comes by every once in a while. So whenever we want a dance, he lets us use it.”

“Neat.” Cassandra quips brightly. “And is this one of those ‘literally every town member attends’ kinda thing?”

“Oh, yeah. You didn’t get to see the barbecue -” Jake coughs, wincing at his choice of words - “but, um, you’re gonna love it. Oh, and I should’ve asked - do you know any swing dancing?”

“Oh, yeah.” Cassandra replies offhandly. “My parents were really into me being the perfectly well-rounded child, so I took lots of dance lessons as a kid. Is that what most of the dancing’s going to be?”

“Not most, but some.” Jake says. “But this way, I’ll probably step on your toes less.”

“Please.” Cassandra scoffs. “You act all humble, but ten bucks says as soon as you step out on the dance floor you’re whirling people around like it’s nothing.”

“Not people.” Is the first thing that comes into Jake’s head. “Just you.”

Cassandra glances over at him, her smile that’s half shy and half beaming creeping onto her face, and Jake has to quell the sudden urge to push her hair back and kiss her.

Instead, he coughs, and changes the subject. “So, uh, how’s today going?” He’s been trying to give her space, but she doesn’t seem to mind when he asks just generally about how she’s doing, and it gives her a chance to bring up anything that hasn’t been going well without seeming like she’s complaining (which, he’s found, she hates doing).

“It’s been good. My parents were a little, um, heated this morning, but then they left, so.”

“That sucks.” He hasn’t seen any more of her parents since his brief sighting at the barbecue, but from Cassandra’s reports he’s pretty surprised by the fact that they’re still together - the only thing they agree on, from the sound of it, is Cassandra’s constant need for improvement.

“But hey, how about that book you were reading this morning?” Cassandra changes the subject. “I didn’t really think you read any poetry past the 19th century.”

“I just, wanted to try something different.” Jake says, trying to keep his voice from giving him away. “You know, you should really break outta the nerd section of the library one day and come check out the really good stuff.”

“Whenever you decide to come read the _best_ stuff, I’ll try some of your dusty poetry.”

 _“Dusty poetry?_ That’s harsh.”

“Anything more than a hundred years old can accurately be referred to as dusty, just so you know.”

“Yeah, well, at least this poetry’s stuck around for that long, instead of having to be updated all the time -”

“ - To make it more _accurate_ -”

 

They bicker until they reach the barn, where lights that have been strung up from the roof are contrasted against the dimming horizon, and already half the town is dancing.

“Ready?” Jake asks, reaching down to squeeze Cassandra’s hand.

She takes a deep breath, and squeezes his hand back. “Ready.”

 

The barn’s big enough that even with this amount of people it isn’t too crowded, and everyone is either dancing or drinking or sitting on the sidelines laughing at everyone else. Cassandra’s nervousness is fading from her eyes as the notes to Josh Gracin’s _Nothin’ To Lose_ start up, and Jake pulls her onto the dance floor.

She was right - he does know how to dance. And so does she, more than a few lessons as a kid would’ve resulted in. Or maybe she really is just amazing at everything she does, as he’s suspected. She’s laughing, breathless, as they whirl and dip, faster and faster, until the room is a blur around them and he can’t even think further than the next step. He doesn’t even realize he’s laughing until the song comes to an end, with Cassandra in his arms and the sound of scattered applause and hooting from the crowd.

“‘Step on your toes’, my ass.” Cassandra comments, and he grins.

“Okay, so maybe I’ve picked up a few things over the years.”

“You pick up a lot of things.” She replies, rolling her eyes. Just as they’re both recovering a regular breathing pattern, Zac Brown Band’s cover of _Oh My Sweet Carolina_ comes on, and Jake shifts into a waltzing position.

“Surprisingly, I actually know this song.” Cassandra mumbles into his shoulder as they fall into the slow rhythm.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. Molly, one of my friends from New York, well, her parents loved Ryan Adams, so they would play all of his songs like, on a constant loop whenever I was over. I think they were trying to convert me. But, I mean, that was the original, not this crappy cover.”

“First ‘dusty poetry’, now you insult _Zac Brown Band_.” Jake shakes his head slightly, his cheek brushing Cassandra’s hair. “I sometimes wonder what I see in you.”

He can feel her smile against his shoulder even as she mumbles, “Same to you, _nerd section of the library_.”

 

They dance to a few more up-tempo songs until his feet start to ache, and he links his fingers with Cassandra’s and leads her to just outside the barn, where there’s a rickety old picnic table with fading paint. He settles down onto it (the table part, obviously. Picnic table benches were never meant for anything more than footrests), and Cassandra perches beside him, just close enough that their shoulders are almost touching.

They sit in silence for a minute, gazing out at the now-dark sky that’s spotted with stars.

“It’s beautiful.” Cassandra says, and Jake finally forces out the words that he’s been sitting on all day.

“You, Therefore.” He blurts out.

“What?” Cassandra turns to look at him, her face just barely illuminated by the lights from the barn behind them.

“That’s the poem I was reading, earlier. It’s by Reginald Shepherd.” He says, and instead of saying anything else Cassandra just waits in anticipation, as he clears his throat. _Well, here goes nothing._

“You are like me,” he starts. “You will die too, but not today:

you, incommensurate, therefore the hours shine:   

if I say to you “To you I say,” you have not been   

set to music, or broadcast live on the ghost   

radio, may never be an oil painting or

Old Master’s charcoal sketch: you are

a concordance of person, number, voice,

and place, strawberries spread through your name   

as if it were budding shrubs, how you remind me   

of some spring, the waters as cool and clear

(late rain clings to your leaves, shaken by light wind),   

which is where you occur in grassy moonlight:   

and you are a lily, an aster, white trillium

or viburnum, by all rights mine, white star   

in the meadow sky, the snow still arriving

from its earthwards journeys, here where there is   

no snow (I dreamed the snow was you,

when there was snow), you are my right,

have come to be my night (your body takes on   

the dimensions of sleep, the shape of sleep   

becomes you): and you fall from the sky

with several flowers, words spill from your mouth

in waves, your lips taste like the sea, salt-sweet (trees   

and seas have flown away, I call it

loving you): home is nowhere, therefore you,   

a kind of dwell and welcome, song after all,   

and free of any eden we can name.”

 

When he finishes, it takes him a second before he works up the nerve to look over at Cassandra. When he does, she’s looking at him with an expression of wide-eyed wonder, and a little bit of something else. “I just - thought you would like it.” He says, and when she doesn’t respond his tone turns worried. _“Do_ you like it?”

There’s a few moments where time seems to stand still. Cassandra, looking more beautiful than ever as she throws her head back to laugh. Cassandra, tightening her hands in her lap.

Cassandra, bringing her fingers up to cup his chin as she leans in to kiss him.

  
“Yeah, Jake.” She says, once they’ve pulled just enough apart that their lips can move on their own. “I really like the poem.”


	6. Leave yourself behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A headache, and an impossible choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I'M SO SORRY. I NEED A WARNING LABEL FOR THESE STUPID FICS THAT KEEP TURNING UNINTENTIONALLY INTO ANGST.  
> Song lyrics for this chapter from 'My Love' by Sia, which you should really listen to while reading.

On Monday, Cassandra isn’t in school.

 

Jake tries not to freak out about it. Or about the fact that even though he’s stopped by her house, and even called a few times, she hasn’t answered. Maybe she’s just catching up on lost sleep. Maybe she caught the flu bug that’s been going around. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

He tries to turn his mind over to his classes, but it only half works. So after school when Zeke tells him the gang’s going down to the city for a movie night, he agrees. If he stays home he’ll just be waiting for a call from Cassandra, anyway.

The movie is some dumb action movie that he usually pretends to love, but tonight he just can’t summon up the energy for it, so he goes outside to get some air.

The wind is cool against his bare arms, and when he looks up at the night sky he’s disappointed to only be able to make out a few dim stars. He remembers how he’d pointed out the constellations to Cassandra the other night, and suddenly there’s a tightness in his chest and he realizes where this restlessness is coming from.

He misses her.

  


...

  


When Cassandra slips into her house in the early hours of the morning, she closes the door quietly behind her. With all of her nervousness, she hadn’t even hoped that the date would have gone so well. She’s on cloud nine - cloud nine - cumulonimbus - level nine - 40,000 feet - 40,000 goes into 200 200 times - 200 A.D. was a leap year - frogs - frogs hopping catching catching falling -

 

She doesn’t even realize what’s happening until a searing pain shoots through her skull and she feels the jarring crack of the floor ramming up against her body.

She screams - _she_ screamed, didn’t she? No one else would have - but no one comes. Not for an age, a decade - an eternity. No, eternity is illogical - irrational - pi is irrational is 3.1415926535897932 - 32 is the sum of the totient number for the first 10 integers - integers - her dad teaching her about rational integers at the kitchen table eating breakfast - breakfast tastes like breakfast but oranges smell like stale parchment -

“Cassandra! What the hell -”

\-  is bees buzzing bees stinging stinging _hurts_ -

“Get her in the car, we’re taking her to the hospital.”

\- is 14 squared 14 is the third discrete semiprime - discreet like when she didn’t tell anyone about the time she burnt herself on purpose - burning burning hot burning _hurts_ -

She knows how long it goes on for. 7098 seconds until the flashes until the burning fades away and she loses consciousness. 7098 seconds until eternity ends.

 

When she comes to, she’s in a hospital bed surrounded by glaring white surfaces. A pang of the bitter taste of weak coffee explodes on her tongue - another sensation to add to the growing list.

Her dad is sitting beside the bed - her mom nowhere in sight. Cassandra pushes herself into a sitting position, wincing at the pain that shoots through her skull. “Dad?” She whispers, and his eyes flick up from his book.

“Hey, sweetie. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Cassandra says shortly. “What happened?”

“We don’t know yet.” Her dad admits. “You had some sort of siezure. The doctors want to run some more tests before they tell us anything.”

“Oh.” Cassandra swallows. “I - okay.”

Just then, a nurse opens the door. “Oh, good.” She says brightly. “You’re awake. Is there anything I can get for you?”

“No, thank you.” Cassandra focuses on her hands, folded on her lap, and not the hospital walls and the ever-strong taste of bitter coffee.

“Alright - I’ll just go grab Dr. Carter then.” The nurse smiles as she slips out the door. Cassandra breathes in. Breathes out. Concentrates on the folds of her skin and the coolness of the hospital sheets. Breathes in.

 

The rest of the day goes by in a whirlwind of one test after another. She has a physical, then an MRI, then an MRA. She doesn’t know a lot about them, but she can see on Dr. Carter’s face that whatever it the result is, it isn’t good. Her suspicions are confirmed when the doctor turns to Cassandra’s mom (her dad slipped out while her mom took over), and says, “Could I speak with you outside?”

“No.” Cassandra blurts out. Both the doctor and her mom look over at her with a cautious expression. “I just,” she continues, “I want to know. I need to know. And there’s never going to be a good time to tell me so just - just rip the bandaid off, okay?”

“Alright.” Dr. Carter says in a resigned voice, then settles down into the chair beside the bed. She has a look of reserved pity on her face that scares Cassandra more than anything. She takes a deep breath. “Cassandra, you have a tumor.”

Cassandra laughs.

She laughs because this is _hilarious,_ this practical joke they’re all playing on her. Because she can’t have a tumor - tumors happen on bad reality shows and in news articles, tumors don’t happen to 17-year-old girls who live in Oklahoma and have never been more sick than having the flu.

She laughs until she runs out of breath, and then her lungs suck in more air to fuel the sobs the laughter somehow turned into.

 

She doesn’t really hear the rest of the conversation. Surgery, chemo, radiation therapy, survival rate, biopsy. She knows that last one involves a needle going into her brain, and she should be scared, she should be _terrified,_ but instead she’s just - numb. Empty.

 

And even though there are so many more things she should be thinking about, she misses Jake.

  


...

  


“They moved.”

The words come like a shock to his brain. _“What?”_

“Yeah. Apparently there was some sort of family emergency, so they moved back to Manhattan over the weekend. Crazy, right?”

Jake can’t even begin to process the words that Zeke is spitting out with a tone of distanced boredom. They couldn’t have left. Cassandra _wouldn’t._ Not without saying goodbye.

Would she?

  


...

  


“This is where we can get the best treatment for you, honey.” The words coming out of her mother’s mouth are barely registering as Cassandra takes in the tiny apartment, strange in its familiarity. The apartment is new, but the city she’s settled into like a second skin. She can feel herself slipping back into the person she used to be, before Oklahoma. Before Jake.

 _I’ll call him._ She tells herself, as she sets about to unpacking her things.

  
She never does.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten years later.

When Jake wakes up to his alarm clock blaring through his sleep, his first though is _fucking hell._ His second thought - the more important one - is _oh, shit. It’s today_.

He rolls out of bed, knocking the alarm clock to the floor in his attempt to blearily hit the _off_ button. There’s a crack, and the sounds cuts out. Oh, well - he’ll get another one later. Besides, he has bigger things to worry about. Bigger things, like what’s going to be happening in less than twelve hours. He takes a deep breath. _Twelve hours_. Okay. He can do this.

 

He goes to pick up his suit - his first ever black-tie suit. As if this weren’t nerve wracking enough. He stands in line for a while before paying a truly stupendous amount for the bag handed to him by one of the saleswomen - drop-dead gorgeous, but a redhead. He tends to avoid redheads when it comes to dating.

Ten hours to go. He paces his apartment, reciting his piece out loud over and over again. Every time, he forgets a different line, a different word - and it crumbles down. He should’ve been able to recite this thing in his _sleep_ by now, but these fucking nerves are changing the game entirely.

He forgets to eat, so when the sun finally starts to go down and there’s less than two hours to go, he heads out. God knows they’ve got to have burgers at the venue.

 

They don’t. Instead, they have a stupidly high-end restaurant that he has no intention of eating at, so he slips out and goes to the burger stand across the street.

He’s finishing up his burger when a single drop of ketchup falls and lands on - of all parts of this penguin suit - his crisp white shirt.

 _“Shit.”_ He blurts out, dabbing at it with a napkin. “Damn it.”

“Hey, do you need any help -” a voice cuts in, and then three things happen all at once.

First: Jake recognizes the voice, like something from a long-lost dream.

Second: He looks up to see the speaker.

Third: He finds himself staring into the face of Cassandra Cillian, the girl he hasn’t seen in nearly ten years.

 

“Cassie?” The word spills out of his mouth before he can help it, and the rush of emotion that hits him is astonishing, considering the amount of time since he’s last seen her.

“Jake?” Her jaw drops, equally stunned. “I -”

“I can’t believe it’s actually you.” Jake says, then laughs at his own awed voice. “I just mean - the chances of running into you, in _New York_ of all places.”

“Well, I mean, it’s a little less coincidental then that.” Cassandra says with a soft smile that sets off a million memories. “I was coming to watch you speak.”

“No kiddin’?”

“Well, I saw it in the paper, and I mean, I know we haven’t talked in - wow, has it really been ten years? - but I was just so happy that you - you got out, you followed your dream. So of course I came.” _Of course I came_. It’s so matter-of-fact, like there isn’t ten years of not-speaking between them, ten years trying to forget the month that he knew her. Just cut-and-dry. _Of course I came._

“I actually - I should get inside, clean myself up.” Jake says regretfully. “But do you want to catch up, after? Go get some coffee?”

“I’d love to.” Cassandra says, her face lighting up. “Break a leg.”

“Thanks.” He replies with a quick flash of a grin, before darting across the street and into the building.

 

It’s terrifying.

It’s every bit as bad as he’d imagined - and then, suddenly, it isn’t. Suddenly he’s talking about Tennyson and Lord Byron and Faulkner and blurting out quotes about King Arthur and Rome at a lightning speed, and there’s the feeling of a weight being lifted off of his chest.

When the audience starts clapping, it jolts him out of his reverie. He’d completely forgotten everything except the fascination of these things he was speaking about. And he can’t quite tell because of the lights, but he thinks he sees a very enthusiastic redhead up in the balcony, standing and cheering like no tomorrow.

 

He meets her outside, after he’s finished shaking hands and talking art history with what seems like every professor and expert in the New York area. She’s reading, leaned up against the side of the building, and in the lamplight the sight of her takes his breath away.

“Hey, Cassandra.”

She looks up from her book, a smile lighting her features as she sees him. “Jake, that was _brilliant._ It was beyond brilliant. It was - it was like I was watching Plato, or Aristotle. It was _inspired.”_

“Really, thank you, but we have so much more to talk about than tonight.” Jake waits until she’s finished stuffing her book into her purse before he starts walking down the crowded street. People are rushing around, undaunted by the fact that it's nearly midnight, and he wonders again at his choice for a home. But he loves it, too. He loves the starting-over and the invisibility and the fact that no matter what’s happening to you, there are over eight million people with their own lives and worries and plans who won’t be affected by it at all.

“Alright then.” Cassandra falls into step beside him. “What else have you been up to?”

“Not much.” Jake shrugs. “That presentation took up most of my time - and by the looks of it, I’ll be doing a lot more of them.”

“Come on.” Cassandra nudges him. “It’s been _ten years_. Something interesting has to have happened. How are Zeke and Lamia? How’s Naomi?”

“Zeke is somewhere in France. We aren’t really sure what he’s doing - he’s been intentionally vague about all of it.” Jake starts. “Lamia and Kaitlyn moved to Oklahoma City, and they got married five years ago. Naomi is going to college at the same spot, for mechanical engineering.”

“Wow.” Cassandra says, as they step around the corner and into the quiet coffeeshop Jake had picked out. “Seems like everyone moved on from Annicks.”

“It does, sometimes.” Jake admits with a pang of homesickness. “But we all come back for holidays, so it isn’t _too_ awful.”

They settle into a dark corner booth once their steaming cappuccinos are handed to them over the counter, complete with hearts swirled into the foam.

“So tell me about you.” Jake says, and with it comes a million unsaid questions. Like _why did you leave without saying anything_ , and _why did it take you ten years to come see me_. Questions that have a lot less hurt attached to them than they did ten years ago, but still hurt nonetheless.

“Well, we moved back to Manhattan.” Cassandra swallows and stares down at the cappuccino. “I, um - I had some health problems. So it was kind of urgent.”

“Health problems?” Jake doesn’t want to push, but a certain part of him is begging for answers.

“I had a brain tumor.” Cassandra blurts, setting the cup down on the table with a little more force than is probably necessary.

Jake can feel the blood draining from his face. “Cassandra, I’m so -”

“It’s fine.” She cuts him off. “I had to go through a bunch of chemo, and then I had a surgery two years ago to get rid of it. There’s still the possibility of it coming back,” she shrugs, “but I don’t see the point of thinking in what-ifs. When you’re dying you kind of learn to get rid of that habit, y’know?”

“So that’s why you left.” Jake says calmly, even though his head is still reeling. “And you didn’t call me, because - because you didn’t want to hurt me? Or because you didn’t want to hurt yourself?”

“A little of both.” Cassandra says, a relieved expression crossing her face. “And I can’t even say how sorry I am -”

“No, please. Don’t.” Jake reaches over to clasp her hands with his own. “Ten years is a long time - and you had some damn good reasons.”

“Yeah, well.” Cassandra shrugs. “I could’ve called.”

He understands why she didn’t, though. It’s the same reason he looked up the list of Cillians in Manhattan, but never called any of the numbers. Wrong place, wrong time. Maybe some part of him had known that, even then.

 

They talk until it’s three in the morning, and the staff starts giving them dirty looks, and then they head out to the lamplit street and the cool night air.

“It was really nice seeing you, Jake.” Cassandra says, as she stands outside an open cab door.

“You, too.” Jake replies, and for some reason a part of his throat is clenching up. It doesn’t go away as she gives him one last parting smile, and closes the door behind her.

The cab’s engine putters up, and starts to pull away.

 

And suddenly, Jake realizes what is causing his shortness of breath and the rush of nostalgia rising in his throat. And then he’s running, boots slapping across pavement, pushing through the heavy crowd.

“Wait! Wait up!”

And then the cab is pulling to a stop, and Cassandra is stepping out with a look of utter incredulity on her face. “Jake, what -”

He winds his hands in her hair, and he kisses her.

 

He pulls back, after a second. “Was that okay?” He asks, because he knows this is spontaneous and crazy and something he’d never have normally done in a hundred years.

Cassandra nods mutely. “Yeah.” She says after a second. “Yeah, that was really - better than okay.”

“Do you want to go to dinner next Saturday?” He blurts, and suddenly he’s 17 years old and her smile is the same as it was ten years ago.

“Yes.” She replies, scribbling down a number on a sheet of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, and crushing it into his hand. She stands up on her tiptoes to press one more short kiss to his lips, before slipping back into the cab.

 

Jake stands under the lamplight, taking in the busy street and the scent of perfume and the piece of paper crumpled inside his hand.

  
He breathes in the night sky, and when he goes down into the depths of the subway station, a part of him is still up with the stars.


End file.
